


Heartlines

by Renne



Series: space!military au [3]
Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain Kink, Space Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renne/pseuds/Renne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve and Bucky are on leave after things go pear-shaped in one of Bucky's missions. Steve needs to know what new hurts are etched into Bucky's skin. Sex ensues, but not exactly how Steve expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartlines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minarchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minarchy/gifts).



> A little while ago I did a AU plots meme where I wrote [this plot](http://peterquills.tumblr.com/post/103451883784) for a queer-friendly space!military AU. Set some significant time after [Didn't See It Coming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359692).

"Hey, hey, slow down, yeah?" Bucky slurs drunkenly, laughing softly and shoving at Steve's shoulders.   
  
Steve can't help it, he'd latched onto Bucky the moment he came through the front door, and he's not keen on slowing down. His head is still full of the burn of mid-level anxiety he'd been feeling since he'd first heard about the ambush on Kobara-4, Bucky's squadron getting cut up in a vicious dogfight.   
  
Even Bucky's voice over the air couldn't settle his nerves; the visuals had been knocked down by solar interference and Steve couldn't be sure Bucky wasn't lying when he said he was fine. It wasn't like he made a habit of lying, but Steve knew he would if he thought it could save Steve hurt. (And this is why the military shipped out couples together more often than not; Steve already knows he's been off his game for the past week and a half since word came through of the ambush. The three days until he heard from Bucky he was practically useless, this last week until he could take time off and see Bucky himself had been excruciating. From a purely practical standpoint, Steve knows if he'd been able to see that Bucky was okay for himself, he wouldn't have been half as useless.)  
  
Steve kicks the door shut and shoves Bucky up against it. He needs Bucky now. Needs to know he is okay,  _really_  okay. Bucky's breath is whiskey warm against his jaw and he lets out a pained grunt from the impact of his shoulders against the timber. Steve's angry, he's fucking furious he's been stuck here waiting for Bucky to get in from JFK ("No, it's okay, don't come pick me up...") while Bucky's been off somewhere drinking.  
  
"Steve--" is all Bucky manages before Steve's kissing him hard. He twists his fingers in the front of Bucky's shirt and pulls. Buttons pop and there's the rip of fabric and then Steve can get his hands on Bucky's skin, hot under his fingers. He slides his hands around and down, grabbing Bucky's ass and hauling him close and up, then Bucky's wrapping his legs around Steve's hips and Steve--he can't, he catches Bucky's lower lip between his teeth as he grinds up against Bucky and they're both hard, Bucky groaning against Steve's mouth in pleasure-pain. The door rattles on old hinges as Steve ruts against him and then Bucky's shoving at Steve again, at his shoulders, twisting his face away.   
  
When Bucky gasps his name, " _Steve_ , please," it's all pain and Steve stops, chest heaving. He's shocked at how pale Bucky's face is, guilt scything through him because he--god, he shouldn't have let his anger get the better of him, he's hurt Bucky now--  
  
"Oh, for god's sake will you stop it. Stop thinking," Bucky says. Even now he can't keep the pain from his scold and Steve can't help feeling terrible for it.   
  
Steve says, "Hold on," and when he feels the tightening of Bucky's arms around his shoulders and thighs around his hips (and Steve still feels the familiar sharp stab of lust at that, guilt or not), he hefts Bucky closer. With a few quick steps they're in the downstairs bedroom and he tumbles Bucky onto the bed, half falling over him.   
  
But he's careful, though, very careful not to land on him, not to hurt him (more) and he looks down at Bucky, reaching out and cupping his cheek. "I'm still angry, Buck," he says, which is a lie even as he feels it draining away. Steve slides his hand down Bucky's neck, down under the collar of his wrecked shirt, pushing it off his shoulder and leaning forward to press his mouth against smooth skin.   
  
"Jesus, Steve. It was just a few drinks at the spaceport," Bucky says rolling onto his side so Steve can tug the tangle of material down his arm. "Toro was here on a stopover. He's shuttling a Sha-thi contingent home in the morning. I didn't even know he was gonna be in port or I'da let you know before. You know that."  
  
Yeah, Steve knows. He's not angry anymore. It's not like he can ever hold on to being angry at Bucky anyway, and they both know it.   
  
Steve shifts and Bucky pushes himself up into a sitting position, grimacing as he shrugs his other arm out of his shirt. Steve takes it from him and tosses it aside and then he's got his hands all over Bucky, gently mapping the expanse of his skin for all the new hurts he knows are there. "Ribs?" he asks.   
  
"Nothing's busted." Bucky turns, wincing as he twists so Steve can see his back.   
  
Steve inhales sharply at the lurid red and purple and black bruising that spills down the right side of Bucky's back, overlaid by the raw jagged red of a laser-sealed wound running from his neck to the bottom of his shoulder blade. "Oh hell, Buck, what happened?"  
  
"Got caught on the hatch ejecting. They'd put us in a wing of those old Tsusong Tan crates they'd used in the Otarr Rebellion twenty years back and they were old then. Fuckin' deathtraps."   
  
Steve's mouth thins and he slides off the bed, padding through to the downstairs bathroom. And yeah, he's angry again, but not with Bucky this time, with the fleet. "I thought they said you weren't going to fly anything that old after 14-OH-2." He tries for a neutral tone, he really does, but it's hard when anything makes him remember how close he's come to losing Bucky before. He's read the mission reports for the planet hopping operations the Allies conducted across the 14-OH-2 system, and all the pilot debriefings. He knows what happened inside out--had to, for his own peace of mind--but that still didn't excuse the fact that, just as now, Bucky had been forced to fly a space-capable fighter that was at least two decades older than he was. Didn't excuse Bucky's fighter exploding around him, leaving him stuck on an under-resourced hospital ship suffering from third degree burns to sixty percent of his body.  
  
Steve breathes out, braces himself on the basin.   
  
Between Bucky's reputation and Steve's position, he'd been able to obtain Bucky's urgent medical transfer from that hospital ship to the nearest Allied-occupied planet where he'd been stabilised and dumped in the first available nano-regen tank. He still remembers how he'd felt when he'd been escorted onto the hospital ship and found Bucky in an overstretched ward, nothing but a bloody, screaming mess (and Steve would never forget echoing the pain resonating through Bucky for the first time, a shocking side-effect of what the Sha-thi did to him).  
  
Bucky said he didn't remember much about the days between being shot down and waking up on the ward in General Field Hospital #462, skin shiny pink and brand new, weak as a newborn kitten. But Steve remembered enough for the both of them.   
  
"Hey," Bucky says softly, suddenly there at Steve's side, reaching out to curl his fingers around Steve's wrist. "It's okay. Apart from a few bumps and scrapes I'm okay. The 'Tans were all well serviced, but the design is flawed if you gotta eject. We pushed Hydra off planet and once the fleet clears Kobara-6, Hydra will have lost another mining system." The last is said with satisfaction, even though they both know the Kobara system is only minor in the grand scheme of things and not a significant loss to the enemy.  
  
Steve's hands tighten where he's gripping the basin's edge. "'Fucking deathtraps', you called them."  
  
But Bucky just laughs softly, presses up against his side. "You know me. I exaggerate. C'mon," he says, tugging at Steve's wrist. "We can go upstairs and you can welcome me home properly." His voice dips to a suggestive purr that cuts right through the anger and fear. Steve turns, lets Bucky slide his hands up under his shirt and god, it feels so good when Bucky touches his skin. He kisses Bucky briefly before pulling away.   
  
"In a minute," Steve says and he turns to the cupboard. The wooden box he pulls out is an antique and familiar to both of them.   
  
"Aw, Steve," Bucky complains when he sees it and hooks his fingers over the waistband of Steve's jeans. The nudge of his fingers against Steve's stomach and then slipping lower sends a flutter through Steve's belly. "I just wanna fuck and then go to sleep." His words aren't sexy, but he gives Steve a come-hither look, all hot gaze and parted wet lips, tugs Steve even closer (the box uncomfortable sharp corners between them), and leans up to whisper in Steve's ear, "All I've been thinking about this whole ride home is you inside me."   
  
Steve is not even embarrassed by the whimper he lets out at Bucky's words, at the way he fumbles not to drop the box with one hand and pulls Bucky close with the other, crushing their mouths together. God, he could drown in Bucky's mouth.  
  
Bucky tries to steal the box from his grip and that brings Steve back to his senses. "No," he says with reluctant firmness, "come on," and hustles Bucky back to the bedroom. It's their guestroom, but Steve's lost track of the number of times he and Bucky haven't even made it to the stairs. He doesn't care if they're upstairs or downstairs right now.  
  
As soon as they're back in the bedroom, Bucky's on his back--with a wince he can't hide--wriggling out of his trousers. He scoots backwards on the bed, legs obscenely splayed and Steve swallows at the way he licks his lips and tilts his head back, deliberately sliding his hand down his body to wrap around his cock, stroking languidly. The mood is completely broken by the spasm of pain that crosses Bucky's when he tries to push himself up onto his elbow and Steve, though he's achingly turned on, scowls.   
  
"Just let me do this first," he says, reluctantly tearing his gaze from the way Bucky slowly swipes his thumb back and forth over the head of his cock. Steve manages to continue with, "You know I like taking care of you," (Bucky makes a rude noise at that), "even if you never let me." It's not tit for tat from their youth. Sure, Bucky had spent so much of that time putting Steve back together from sickness and injury, but even then, when Bucky had been sick--rare, but it happened--Steve had been happy to look after him, like it was something at least that he  _could_  do for Bucky.  
  
"God, Steve." Bucky releases himself and flops backwards on the bed, again grimacing in pain for a moment before settling for a resigned, annoyed pout.   
  
Steve laughs at Bucky's expression and leans forward, pressing a kiss to the unmarked skin of his other shoulder, then to his lips. As he sits up straight again, he can't help reaching out and letting his fingertips trail across Bucky's chest and down until he grazes his fingertips over the length of Bucky's cock. It's just a tease of a touch, barely there, but it makes Bucky hiss through his teeth with pleasure. It's not like Steve doesn't want to press Bucky into the mattress and wrap his fingers around Bucky's cock, jerking him off and kisses him thoroughly.   
  
But... priorities.  
  
Steve sits back, flipping the lid of the box open and the familiar aroma of the salves and ointments wafts out. "Up," he says, reaching out to help Bucky into a sitting position, concerned again when Bucky just sighs in response, moving gingerly and without further complaint.   
  
He fishes a jar out of the box and, settling Bucky in the 'v' of his legs, scooping up some of the pungent salve and smoothing it over Bucky's abused skin. Supporting Bucky with an arm across his chest, Steve massages the salve into his back. He tries to be gentle, but it's not easy when his fingers pass over the worst of the damage and he has to work the salve in to loosen up muscles and shift the bruising. He's been through this himself enough times to know that it's worth the pain now to speed the healing, but knowing that it doesn't make it any easier hearing the soft grunts and hisses that Bucky tries to smother. An apology is on his lips, but he doesn't say it; he knows how much Bucky hates it when Steve says sorry for things he can't help.   
  
Then:   
  
"Steve," Bucky moans and Steve realises oh god, he's not making those noises out of pain. Or not just pain, anyway. Bucky... Bucky's getting off on Steve's fingers kneading his abused muscles, his hand catching convulsively in the bed covers.  
  
Steve swallows, leaning forward a little and-- _oh_. He stills and closes his eyes, but the image of Bucky's hand again wrapped around himself is burnt into Steve's retinas. He shivers through an echo of Bucky's arousal, mouth suddenly dry.  
  
"No, don't stop," and Bucky's gone almost limp against his arm, his voice a rough rasp as he sags into Steve's body.   
  
"Buck--"  
  
 _"Please."_  Steve's never heard Bucky plead like that before, never heard that edge in his voice.   
  
But--  
  
"No," Steve says. He rests his hand lightly over the worst of Bucky's bruising and leans forward, pressing his lips to Bucky's shoulder. "I don't want you to come yet. Not like this. Because I want you to fuck  _me_ ," he says the words right into Bucky's ear and fuck, the noise Bucky makes is electrifying as he goes rigid in Steve's arms.  
  
"You don't--"  
  
"I do."  
  
"You never--"  
  
"You know that's not true." Steve cups Bucky's jaw, turning his head and kissing him, savouring the warmth of his lips, the slow slide of their tongues together. Bucky's fingers catch in the front of Steve's shirt.  
  
Eventually Bucky says, "You really--"  
  
 _"Yes,"_  and Steve can't help the edge of fond exasperation in his tone. "Your show, Buck. However you want it." Just because he's usually the one giving it doesn't mean he doesn't want it himself sometimes. And he does, he aches sometimes with how bad he wants it. But god, he knows how much Bucky loves when Steve's inside him, and Steve loves being in him just as much.   
  
Loves when they do it face to face and Steve can watch Bucky come to pieces beneath him; watch how Bucky shakes and the needy way his hands skid over Steve's skin as Steve fucks him 'til he comes then fucks him through it, fucks him 'til he's a wrung out mess, because Steve is the only one who can do that to him. Steve with his inhuman stamina and Bucky who would never say stop until Steve came, even if it took Steve hours to take him to pieces (and it has).   
  
Steve cleans the last of the salve off his fingers with the ruin of Bucky's shirt, then strips himself, aware of the hot way Bucky watches him move, eyes ranging over his body. He knows he's kind on the eye now even as he knows now Bucky's always enjoyed looking at him, even when he was spindly and frail. But there's something distinctly arousing in how comfortable he feels being looked at now, knowing he makes Bucky's mouth dry just looking at him like this.  
  
As soon as Steve settles back on the bed, Bucky's over him.  
  
It's not like they make a habit of fucking in the downstairs bedroom, but there's a stash of lube, just in case, tucked hidden away in one of the bedside drawers where no visitor should find it. It's not that either of them are embarrassed about having a healthy sex life that sometimes means not making the stairs, it's just that--as Steve points out--guests sleep in this bed and he doesn't want them to feel uncomfortable (or turned on, Bucky quips) at the thought that so much sex must go on in here that they need to keep a supply of lube at hand.  
  
Bucky takes a long time prepping him, slow, careful care that Steve doesn't need, that Bucky knows Steve doesn't need. It's excruciating as Bucky finger fucks him, pushing against his prostate with every thrust, so fucking good but still not  _enough_  (later Steve will realise Bucky knew exactly what he was doing, tearing Steve down to nothing but feelings and needs--wants--as he helplessly begs Bucky to give him more, like Steve's done to Bucky so many times).  
  
He has to hook his fingers under the edge of the headboard to stop from reaching out; this is, as he promised, Bucky's show to run but he can't help the soft laugh at the look on Bucky's face when he sees Steve's taken his hands out of the equation. Equal parts smug and amused and turned on because fuck, they've never--  
  
"Next time," Bucky voice is husky with lust and Steve can't help but groan  _yes_  because the thought of not having to worry about willpower to keep his hands where they are, surrendering up complete control to Bucky is just... he groans again, ragged, as Bucky fingers him harder and he tries to push down against Bucky's hand for the  _more_  he wants. Bucky laughs and slithers down his body. "We shoulda done this a long time ago," he says before he takes Steve's cock in his mouth.  
  
Steve should have expected it, but fuck, higher mental functions--he can't think of anything beyond the hot wetness of Bucky's mouth around his cock, the tiny teases of teeth and the pressure of Bucky's tongue that make him gasp. He plants his feet on the mattress, legs splayed wide, tries to push up into Bucky's mouth and down onto his fingers.   
  
"Bucky," Steve gasps, "Buck, I'm--gonna come--" because he is and he does, letting out a ragged noise as Bucky presses his fingers hard against Steve's prostate, mouth relentless on Steve's cock as he swallows down every drop, tonguing at the slit. Steve manages to pry his eyes open and Bucky's looking up at him, his eyes bright. He's still got his mouth wrapped around Steve's cock (the obscenely beautiful stretch of his wet mouth), but Steve knows that look; Bucky would be grinning if he could.   
  
And god, Steve knows that look, knows it means no good, but he still doesn't expect it when Bucky presses his fingers against Steve's prostate again and again, and it's too much,  _too much_ , pleasure so sharp it's almost pain.  
  
"B-Buck--oh  _fuck_ , you--you are s-such a jerk. C'mon, c'mon," Steve whines. It's almost painful to unlock his grip on the headboard to bring his arms down. He curls his fingers through Bucky's hair and tugs in a way that makes Bucky hiss, but it also makes Bucky surge up to meet him, kissing him hard. There's a sting as his lip is caught between clashing teeth, and it's only Bucky's mouth against his that stops Steve from crying out when Bucky presses his fingers deep into Steve one last time before slipping them from his body.  
  
Steve runs his hands down Bucky's bruised body to his ass, hauling him close so their cocks line up between them and Bucky's sticky-wet fingers clench on his hip. This time it's Steve's turn to grin even though he's sensitive too, because Bucky's still on a knife-edge for all the time he took to prep Steve. It must have been killing Buck not to jerk off as he blew Steve, because Steve knows exactly how hard that makes him.  
  
Though he's given Steve the respite he needs, all Steve can think about is the feel of Bucky's cock moving inside him. It doesn't take long for his hybrid metabolism to do its recovery thing and god, he wants Bucky to fuck him 'til he comes, 'til he can't think and he cants his hips up, thickening cock sliding against Bucky's.  
  
Like Bucky can read his thoughts, he murmurs, "You ready?"  
  
"Yeah," Steve says a little breathlessly and Bucky gives him a brilliant smile.   
  
A quick slick of lube and he's pushing into Steve easily.   
  
Steve lets his eyes sink shut as he breathes out slowly at the sensation, arching his hips up to meet Bucky's slow thrust. Bucky manages to say, "Oh fuck, Steve, I'd forgotten how good you feel.  _Fuck_."  
  
"Forgot how good  _you_  feel." Steve draws Bucky down to him and they kiss, and Steve could drown in the taste of Bucky's mouth, the movements of Bucky's body over him, the slow thorough way Bucky fucks into him.   
  
Steve catches a glimpse in the mirror on the back of the door, just the tangle of legs and the roll of Bucky's ass between his thighs, and Bucky sees Steve looking and smiles. "We can get a bigger one installed in the bedroom so you can watch all you want," he teases playfully, pressing hot kisses to Steve's throat.  
  
"No," Steve says. "I like the one we've got." The free-standing mirror upstairs is from their first little flat, from long before they were together, with all its history. The mirror Bucky had stood Steve in front of years before he left for basic training at the Flight Academy, when they were young and untested and Bucky had pointed out to Steve all the places his spindly little lion-heart body was strong, when Steve didn't think he could continue.   
  
The mirror Steve had stood Bucky in front of in his own turn, after they'd finally come together, when he'd brought Bucky home from General Field Hospital #462. Bucky had suffered a dissonance between what he remembered of his body and the one they gave him back, all the familiar scars healed away. The doctor had told Steve that reminding Bucky of the things that were still the same would help and Steve did it the only way he knew how: in front of the mirror, stripped bare, as he recounted to Bucky every moment of their intimate history with his hands and mouth.  
  
Bucky's always been a sensual creature and while it mightn't have been what the doctor meant when he prescribed the course of action, Steve found it worked well enough, his body worship helping Bucky feel familiar in his own now-flawless skin again--  
  
A sudden sharp pain of teeth over his collarbone makes him yelp and he feels Bucky's fingernails scratch roughly down his side. "Am I boring you?" Bucky asks. He's stilled, cock buried deep in Steve's body. "This not doing it for you?"  
  
"I was just--" it was only a split second distraction, the memory of fucking Bucky in front of the mirror so they both could see. Steve's voice is husky when he finishes with, "--remembering the mirror." He sees the look in Bucky's eyes, feels the slight tremor that runs through him and knows he remembers too.   
  
Bucky kisses him then, quick and savage. "S'okay then," he mutters against Steve's mouth and his teeth are sharp a moment on Steve's lip in a way that makes Steve shift restlessly underneath Bucky.   
  
"You ready to fuck me now?" he asks.  
  
"You gonna stop daydreaming?"   
  
"I've stopped," Steve promises and Bucky laughs softly. Yeah, that should have been Steve's sign right there that Bucky was more than ready to accept a challenge, and he does, bracing himself over Steve and fucking him hard. Steve, in the moment before his brain dribbles out the bottom of his skull from sheer pleasure, can only think of how much he loves Bucky, of how beautiful he is, before all thought is wiped away.  
  
And then he's caught up in the movement of Bucky's body over him and inside, caught on the build of pleasure--his own and Bucky's--one hand sliding over sweat-slick skin and between their bodies to grip himself, one hand at the back of Bucky's neck as they kiss breathless and broken.  
  
"I-- _Steve_ \--"   
  
And that's all Steve needs; Bucky's broken tone, his name, and he's coming too, letting go on the wave of Bucky's orgasm as it feeds back into him. Bucky presses his face into Steve's neck as he shudders and Steve slips his sticky-wet hand from between them, wrapping his arms around Bucky as tightly as he dares. Holds him like that until they both come back from the edge, breath and heartbeats slowing.  
  
Steve presses a kiss to Bucky's temple and whispers, "I love you," feeling the curve of Bucky's mouth shape consonants and vowels in the moment of Bucky's lips against his skin.  
  
True to his word, Bucky's slumped boneless and nearly asleep over Steve only moment after he's come.   
  
Steve laughs fondly (and Bucky stirs at the noise, mumbling something against Steve's throat, all vowels this time) and he shifts until Bucky's fitted comfortably against his body. He runs his fingers in a feather light touch over the wound on Bucky's shoulder, his skin hot under Steve's fingers, before settling his hand against the small of Bucky's back, holding him close.  
  
With a soft, pleased sigh because Bucky might be damaged but he's safe and here where he should be, Steve closes his eyes. If he sleepily wills this moment to last forever, he doesn't think anyone could blame him.


End file.
